


The Girl Who Counted

by WorldsOnlyConsultingCriminal



Series: The Girl [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Series Spoilers, Unplanned Pregnancy, post-Reichenbach Fall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:23:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorldsOnlyConsultingCriminal/pseuds/WorldsOnlyConsultingCriminal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first Sherlolly fanfic. It's probably my second favorite pairing (behind Johnlock of course).<br/>This is the first part in a (most likely) three part series. Parts one and two having been already written.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Sherlolly fanfic. It's probably my second favorite pairing (behind Johnlock of course).  
> This is the first part in a (most likely) three part series. Parts one and two having been already written.

I was working late at the morgue for the fourth night in a row. I groaned as I heard the sound of glass, yet again smashing against the poor, abused wall. Sherlock was obviously frustrated, and I got the privilege of cleaning up after him. Again. He didn't want anyone to know he was "back from the dead" yet. So I had to sneak him in and out of Bart's during late hours, hide him in my flat during the day, and watch as everyone around me suffered from their loss.

The worst was watching John. He was so… broken. He still helped with Lestrade, he was still living in 221B Baker Street, and he still tried his best to stay with Sarah, but he couldn't fool me. I could see the pain and suffering in his eyes. He'd lost his best friend, and I willingly let him hurt every day. It had been almost three years, but Sherlock had reminded me over and over that John, along with the others, were not safe until Moriarty's people were completely taken care of. He was coming close, and up until a month ago when he came to me, he'd been able to do it himself.

After I had helped him fake his suicide, he'd disappeared almost completely. He contacted me discreetly every couple of months to let me know he was alright, by my request. Other than that, I had not seen or heard from him until he showed up at my flat one night and stood watching me sleep on the sofa until I woke, startled and ready to kick him in the balls or stab out his eyes. He managed to calm me down before I did any damage to either of us, and he held me while I cried and told him how much I missed him.

All that seemed like ages ago. We'd shared no physical contact since, and we rarely spoke about anything other than what he was working on at that moment in time. He'd taken what seemed would end up being a permanent loan out on my sofa, and I couldn't help but wish he could just stay there forever. I knew that I was being terribly selfish, but it was nice that I was the only one at the moment that could help the great Sherlock Holmes. Even if he didn't treat me like John or Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson, he still needed me, he trusted me.

"Molly?" Sherlock called out from the other room.

"Yes?" I asked walking over to the doorway.

"I need to think on this for a while. You ready to go?"

I just nodded. Of course I was. It was nearing midnight and I hadn't gotten a good night sleep in ages. I wasn't used to being up until two or three in the morning, and then expected to be up and ready to go by seven.

Together, we stepped outside, but of course there wasn't a cab in sight. London was sleeping. I was jealous. I took out my phone to call for a cabbie, but Sherlock grabbed my hand, stopping me.

"I want to walk."

I was about to tell him he was crazy. It was cold and windy, and we had a good long ways to go. It was the middle of the night and there was no way I was about to walk all that way while he brooded over his work. But when his hand lingered on mine a little too long, I looked up at him and lost my train of thought. I hadn't noticed earlier, but he was wearing his illegally too tight purple shirt, and he'd left an extra button at the top open, leaving an even better than usual view of his neck. It wasn't fair. Just by showing an inch more skin than usual, he could leave me breathless.

"Molly?" Sherlock sounded concerned. Did he really have no idea what he did to me? "Are you alright?"

"Yeah… Fine. Sorry. Let's go." I turned and started walking.

"Okay, but do realize, I hope, that your flat is the other way."

"I know." I turned around swiftly and didn't look at him. I knew he was smirking, and I'm sure he knew I was blushing. We hadn't been walking for too long when I started to feel the real extent of the cold. Before I knew it, I was shivering and my teeth were chattering.

"Are you cold?" Sherlock asked.

"Obviously." I replied shortly. "What was your first clue?"

"Well you've been trembling, shaking, shivering, and quivering for the past block or so. Within the last ten or so yards, your teeth started chattering and I can see you've got goose bumps. Your lips are currently turning blue, and you've got your hat and scarf pulled together abnormally tight. Not to mention, now that we've stopped moving, your knees keep wobbling."

I rolled my eyes. Sherlock will always be Sherlock.

"Oh, please tell me! What could possibly go wrong with me being so cold?" I asked sarcastically.

"Well I guess I'll give you the brief version so we can get you home faster. Once temperature goes below your body temperature, your body looks for ways to warm you up, hence the shivering and goose bumps. If your body is exposed to cold temperatures too long and loses too much body heat, you could freeze to death. You might possibly get a little frost bite. And hypothermia is definitely not out of the question. Limb loss is not uncommon without treatment, but of course I wouldn't let anything like that happen to you."

I stood with my mouth wide open for a moment, could he really not sense my sarcasm? Apparently not. I continued walking. The faster I got home, the sooner I could have a hot shower.

"Do you want my coat?" He asked quietly. That was not like Sherlock.

"No, I'll be fine. Besides, you would freeze." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sherlock shrug. "We're almost there anyways." I muttered.

I saw him hesitate before draping his arm across my shoulders.

"You don't have to do that." I said, doing my best to ignore my thoughts. Oh my god, Sherlock is touching me. Oh god. Oh god. He smells amazing. He's touching me. A couple more centimeters and his hand could be on my boob… Oh my god. Why is he so tall? His arms are so long… He's touching me…!

He just shrugged again; he didn't seem uncomfortable, which was new. I'd come to learn, if any physical contact or emotional situation was going on, he'd rather just stay out of it.

We walked the rest of the way home like that, and it took everything in me to not lean into him too much, or look up at him. I knew if I did either of those things, I would lose my cool. We really didn't need that.

When we arrived at my flat, my fingers were too cold and clumsy to get the door unlocked. Sherlock had to do it for me. I went straight for the bathroom and into the shower. Hot water was what I needed. The chills faded to a point where I didn't mind so much, but before I knew it, I was sneezing over and over again.

I heard the bathroom door squeak open.

"Sherlock, get out. I'm in the shower." Part of me wanted him to leave, but the other part wanted to rip the shower curtain open and pull him into the shower with me. I was thinking about how he would react to an act like that, but then I broke into a coughing fit.

"Sneezing, coughing, and chills. It could just be a cold, but it could be the flu too. Are you congested at all? It could also be the start of something worse like bronchitis or pneumonia. Is your cough dry? Does your throat hurt at all?" He could have gone on forever with various viruses and diseases and treatments and symptoms, but I couldn't take it.

"Sherlock, shut up. Get out of the bathroom. I am in the bloody shower."

I heard him mutter something under his breath and shuffle out. Thank god.

When I finally started to run out of hot water, I stepped out and dried off before throwing on my robe and stepping into the living room. Sherlock was in the kitchen making tea, he'd set up what seemed like the whole medicine cabinet on the table.

He looked up at me and said, "The tea should help warm you up some more. You really didn't answer about your symptoms, so you're going to have to pick and choose yourself," he finished, gesturing towards all the meds. "Sorry, this is my fault."

"It's okay. And I don't want any though, thanks. I am fine by the way." I turned towards my room. Sherlock's tea tasted like shit anyways.


	2. Chapter 2

I had tossed and turned in bed for way too long, trying to get myself comfortable. I had gotten up to get more blankets, and tried propping myself up against more pillows. I tried laying on my left side, then my back, then my right side, and even my stomach. But no matter what I did, I could not get warm or even remotely comfortable. My throat was dry and itchy, and my head felt like it would explode from all the pressure. No matter what I thought about, I couldn't fall asleep. I tried counting sheep and the bones in the human body. The latter almost always works.

I'd just decided to put my head where my feet should be and prop my feet up on my pillows when my phone went off. 

I can hear your teeth chattering clear from the sofa. –SH

Sorry to disturb you. I'll try to suffer in silence. –Molly

That's not what my concern was. –SH

Then why did you text me? –Molly 

Sherlock's motives were always a mystery to me. You think he wants this, but he doesn't. He wants that.

It's my fault you're so sick. You've taken care of me the past month, now it's my turn to take care of you. –SH

My breath caught in my throat, Sherlock seemed to actually care about my wellbeing.

I was typing back, You don't need to. –Molly 

But before I could hit send, there was a soft knock on my door.

"Come on in." I croaked. God, my throat hurt so badly. Sherlock entered carrying a tray holding a mug of tea almost big enough for me to swim in, a steaming bowl of some form of soup, and a various choice of pills.

"I did some research on your symptoms since I'm not a doctor. Those are the top recommended combination of meds for you to take. The soup is still really hot, so please don't burn your mouth. I would think it would help warm you up a bit though." Sherlock said all this too fast, I could barely follow what he was saying. Or maybe that was just my sickened mind not doing its full job. I was feeling a little light headed.

I muttered a small thank you as he set the tray next to me.

"May I ask why you're in bed backwards?"

"Can't you figure it out on your own?" I managed a small smile.

His face scrunched up in thought. "No. At least I can't come up with any logical reason you're attempting to sleep this way."

"Maybe the reason is illogical." I replied.

The look he gave me was priceless. "But everything has logic to it."

I chuckled at how naïve he was and sipped my tea. It wasn't nearly as bad as I'd feared. I downed all the pills and looked up, hoping he had satisfied his need to help me out and would leave. I didn't really like him seeing me all gross and bedridden.

He just looked up at me expectantly, "Are you going to eat your soup? It's chicken noodle."

"Not hungry," I was actually a little bit hungry, but I knew Sherlock couldn't cook. I groaned as I thought about the inevitable mess I'd have to clean up in the kitchen since he decided to try his hand at cooking. There had been one incident already where I'd walked in the door earlier than usual to find him covered head to toe in flour after unsuccessfully trying to mix up some cookie dough.

Sherlock looked concerned, "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm fine." I turned over.

"Are you sure? You don't look fine." He asked. I felt the weight of the tray being lifted off my bed, and I heard him set it on my bedside table with a soft, dull thud.

I didn't answer, but pulled the blankets tighter around me when I was once again overcome with a fit of chills.

"Are you cold again?" Sherlock asked, but after a moment of consideration added, "Never mind. Obviously you are."

I chuckled, but it soon turned into another coughing fit.

"What can I do?" Sherlock asked.

"Nothing," I muttered. "I'm going to be fine. Just need to tough it out."

I felt another weight on my bed and a rush of cold air as the covers were lifted up. I turned my head and watched wide-eyed as Sherlock crawled in beside me.

"What are you doing?" I asked nervously. I was in bed… with Sherlock.

"I am sharing body heat. Obviously. To warm a person's body, one is to remove their clothing and lie next to the person, making skin-to-skin contact. Then cover both of their bodies with blankets. You should know this Molly. Survival 101." Sherlock said, pulling off his shirt.

I tried to stay focused, but it was somewhat difficult with Sherlock next to me… in bed… without a shirt… "Sherlock… I appreciate the gesture, but I do not have hypothermia. Therefore you can keep your clothes on. Just sit for a second and think about what you're doing. Please Sherlock, I'll be fine."

He remained silent for a moment, and then seemed content to just wrap his arms around me and pull me tightly against his warm chest. I closed my eyes. If this was a dream, I didn't want it to end. Finally, I was comfortable.

I could feel the meds start to kick and I slowly became more and more drowsy. I was just starting to drift off when I heard him say, "Good night Molly. Sweet dreams."

"G'nigh…" I managed to get out. I was so tired, and my mouth and brain weren't working together. I was finally warming up and I had never been more comfortable in my life. If this was how I was going to get treated when I got sick, I needed to get sick more often.

I thought I felt Sherlock press his lips against my forehead softly, but I'm pretty sure I dreamed that. He may have been willingly to cuddle with me to keep me warm, but I was sure he wouldn't bother with any form of "sentiment" and kiss my forehead. That wasn't something Sherlock would do.


	3. Chapter 3

I woke up disoriented in the dark. It took me a moment to realize why I was lying in bed backwards and an even longer moment to question why there was something so warm next to me.

The events of the night before (or earlier that morning you could say) were fuzzy at first, but then everything just hit me. Sherlock was beside me… He was sleeping beside me. It was crazy enough to think that he was sleeping in the first place, but even crazier to think he was sleeping with me… in my bed.

I turned just enough to see Sherlock's face in the very little light seeping in through my window. He was so beautiful while he was sleeping, so peaceful. Don't get me wrong, he was absolutely beautiful awake or not, amused or indifferent, frustrated or relieved, angry or content. But while he was sleeping, there was a certain vulnerability about him that I found so deeply alluring. It reminded me of the feeling of being around the innocence of a newborn child or a lost puppy dog.

His eyelids fluttered open, and my face flushed with the embarrassment of being caught in the act of staring at him while he was sleeping.

"Good morning," he said softly.

"Morning." My voice was too high. My heart was beating too fast. I could feel the redness spread from my face to my neck. I couldn't regulate my breathing. I couldn't look at him. Inside I was trembling, but hopefully it wasn't visible. Hopefully Sherlock couldn't tell. Who I was I kidding? Of course he could tell. This was Sherlock bloody Holmes we are talking about. He didn't miss anything, even if he was still groggy and half asleep.

"You sound much better." He commented. I tried to listen for any smugness in his voice, or anything at all that would hint at the fact that he knew exactly what I was thinking as usual, or that he knew that I was as nervous as a schoolgirl in front of the new, young, and extremely sexy health class teacher. But there was nothing.

"I feel much better." I replied instead of pointing out that I was about to faint from the nearness of his face to mine. Or maybe possibly vomit. Or maybe even both.

He kissed my forehead as if he had done the same motion hundreds of times before. "Did you want something for breakfast?"

"Uh…" I couldn't focus long enough to spit out a simple answer. Sherlock had just kissed me. Who cared if it was just on my forehead? He. Had. Just. Kissed. Me. His lips and been on me, if even for the briefest of moments. And then he continued on to act as if everything was completely normal? What the bloody hell?

"It really isn't that hard of a question, Molly. A one word answer would suffice."

"Sure," I managed to stutter. I didn't know what else I could say or do.

"See? That wasn't so hard." He walked out swiftly, still minus a shirt. That should seriously be a crime. He was just too damn hot.

"If being too sexy was a crime, you'd be behind bars in a flash." I clamped my hand over my mouth. I'd said that out loud. Oh my god. I had just said a pick-up line to Sherlock.

"What was that?" Sherlock's head popped back into the doorway.

"It was nothing, just talking to myself." He could think I was lame if he wanted. "Sorry."

"Why apologize? Talking with yourself not only relieves loneliness, it may also make you smarter. It helps you clarify your thoughts, tend to what's important and firm up any decisions you're contemplating. It's perfectly healthy to talk to yourself. You know that I used to talk to my skull. It's perfectly normal." He walked back towards the kitchen and I could hear banging around in the kitchen. Hopefully he wasn't about to set the flat on fire.

I turned back around in the bed so I could lean up against the headboard. I tried to relax, but I couldn't. Obviously something was going on. And I didn't know how to deal with it, naturally.

Sherlock came back about ten minutes later with the tray holding two slices of slightly burned toast with Strawberry jam and a mug of coffee.

"Thanks," I said quietly. I took the tray from him and sat it on my lap.

He sat down next to me. "Sorry I burnt the toast."

"It's fine. I kind of like it that way." That was a lie, but I munched on it anyways. There was enough jam to almost entirely cover the taste of the burnt.

He sighed. "No you don't. I can read you like a book you know. I know how I make you feel. I always know when you're thinking about me, or when you're thinking about that guy you were seeing last. I can tell when you think about John and Lestrade, and how you wish you could tell them that I'm alive. I can tell when you're sad and want to cry. And I can tell when you do cry when you're in the other room, I'm not deaf you know. I can tell when you're disappointed in me, or when you are frustrated with me. Most importantly, I can tell when you're lying to me, like just now. I may not always acknowledge your feelings, but I always know… And I always care."

I stayed quiet and didn't look at him. He'd known all along. All the doubts I'd had. All the silly fantasies I'd made up of the two us of together. The times I'd wanted to slap him across the face for denying me or telling me that my new lipstick made it look like I'd spent the morning drinking some poor bloke's blood.

"I'm sorry." He whispered. "Really."

That one caught me off guard. "You're sorry?" I looked up at him surprised. "Why?"

"I always put my work first. And I hurt you in the process. I never took a minute out of my day to tell you how pretty you looked, or that I liked your new jumper. You mean so much to me, Molly. I was a stupid git, and I took advantage of your feelings for me instead of recognizing them."

"What are you saying?" I asked slowly.

"All my life, I've felt that sentiment is a chemical found in the brain of the losing side. But after being around you for so long, I've come to realize something. Even if this does put me on the losing side, I don't care. You told me once that you didn't count. You were wrong, you count and I love you, Molly." Sherlock's eyes bore into mine and I couldn't speak. All this had happened so quickly, I couldn't process it. Before I could say anything at all, he took my head in his hands and kissed me on the lips this time.

As if my speechlessness hadn't been enough, I passed out.


	4. Chapter 4

"Molly? Molly… Are you alright?" I could hear Sherlock asking in the distance. "Molly! Please wake up."

I opened my eyes slowly. I was lying on my bed and Sherlock was leaning over me, his face lined with worry. "Are you alright?" He repeated.

"Yeah, I think so." I sat up and I blushed when I remembered what had happened. Sherlock had kissed me and I had passed out.

As soon as he realized that I was fine, Sherlock smirked. "Am I really that good of a kisser?"

"Oh hush up." I couldn't meet his eyes. "Maybe you are just that bad of a kisser."

"That is highly improbable." Sherlock grabbed my chin and made me look at him. There was a twinkle in his eyes that I had never seen before. "It's okay Molly. But it would be nice to know if you plan on doing that every time I kiss you. After a couple of times it might get a little old."

"So you're planning on doing it again?"

"Over and over…" He leaned down to kiss me again and this time I managed to stay conscious. His lips were so soft on mine. I had dreamed about this for so long, and it was so much better than I could've possibly imagined. Of course I couldn't tell Sherlock that, no need for his head to get any bigger. His hand was making its way through my hair, and the other was placed lightly on my neck. I couldn't help it, I needed more. I needed to be closer to him. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling his body tightly against mine. The kiss became more urgent, and this time it was Sherlock to pull away. He took a deep breath and I could feel his heart beating abnormally fast.

I grinned, "You'll be the one to pass out next time."

Sherlock chuckled and pulled me into his arms. "I accept that challenge."

We sat there for a while, but then Sherlock's phone went off in the other room. He stood up to go get it, and I headed for the bathroom. Glancing in the mirror, I saw the nest that had once been my hair. "Sherlock! Why didn't you mention that my hair looked like a Bald Eagle had nested in it?"

"Because that is highly illogical and absolutely ridiculous. Of all birds in the world, Bald Eagles hold the record for the biggest nest ever built. One nest in Florida was 6.1 meters deep, 2.9 meters wide, and weighed 2,722 kilograms, which is almost 3 tons. Honestly, one could barely fit in your flat, let alone on your head."

I rolled my eyes. "Anything interesting?" I asked, referring to the text.

"Actually, yes there is. I have good news."

"You do?" I walked out of the bathroom and sat back down on my bed.

"Yes ma'am. I've tracked down the remainder of Moriarty's people. Within a day or so, I can have this completely resolved."

I didn't mean to frown, but I definitely couldn't smile. I sat there for a moment, thinking. Now Sherlock would go back to John and everything we had just established would be forgotten.

"What's wrong?" He asked, puzzled. "I thought you would be happy."

"I am happy. Everyone is safe now." And I really was happy, just maybe not as happy as I should have been.

"No, you're really not. I can notice the behavior of you while I'm talking. You appear to be lost in your own world and you hardly seem to be listening to me. Also, it is said that eyes are the mirror to the heart of a person. I can see a withdrawn look in your eyes, signifying that there is something that is bothering you. The chances that you are upset or that something is bothering you are high. Until approximately two minutes ago you seemed fine, actually, you were even better than fine! I can easily predict that you are upset with something I'd said in that time frame. Narrowing it down to the moment when I said I am now capable of fixing everything… How could that possibly bother you?"

"You make me sound so terrible…"

"Molly, this doesn't change how I feel about you. I still love you, I still want you. All this entire thing means is that you can stop lying, just like you wanted. We can tell everyone that I'm alive. I'm not going to leave you Molly. Not again. I won't make that mistake again. I promise."

I swear he could read my mind. I didn't say anything, but just got up and hugged him tightly. "I love you." I whispered into his neck.

"I love you too."

We stood there for a while, but Sherlock decided he couldn't waste any more time. "The sooner I can finish them off, the better off we'll be." He picked up a couple of his possessions and walked out the door.

I sighed and followed him. I found at the sofa, packing his belongings. "Where are you going?" I asked nervously. Didn't he just say he wasn't going to leave me?

"More accurately, 'where are we going?'" Sherlock didn't bother looking up.

"We're going somewhere?" I was only slightly surprised.

Sherlock looked up and me and sighed. "I feel like we're backtracking. Keep up Molly dear. Yes, we are going somewhere together. Didn't I say just moments ago that I wasn't leaving you? I'm not about to break that promise already. 'We,' meaning the two of us. You and me. Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper."

Normally I would've been hurt or offended by a statement like that, but I could just barely catch the hint of a teasing tone in his voice. I wondered if that had always been there and I'd just failed to see it. Or if having a little bit of love put a little bit of kindness in his heart. "Alright, so where are we going?"

"Finally you are asking the right questions!" He winked at me. "We are going away to finish this whole ordeal. Pack a bag for two nights. However, we should be back in one." Sherlock continued to stuff into his bag, how he managed to fit so much crap in there, I'd never know. You would have thought he was Marry frikkin Poppins.

I pulled a small bag out of my closet and did as he told me. He wasn't planning on leaving me, and I wasn't about to let him try. I'd follow him wherever he wanted to go.


	5. Chapter 5

*Two days later*

"Sherlock… Are you sure you are ready for this?" I asked nervously. We were standing just outside of 221B Baker Street, having just finished taking care of the remainder of Moriarty's people. It wasn't difficult; we had just had to wait for the perfect moment to shoot a couple bullets and BAM… It was all over.

"Yes." He replied without hesitation.

"He's going to be angry." There was no way he couldn't be angry. Sherlock was really all John had had left, and leaving the way he did and nearly put John in an early grave.

"I know." Sherlock looked uncertain for just a fraction of a second, and then smiled. "But he'll get over it. That's the wonderful thing about John."

"That's not my point. He'll probably curse… He might tell you to get the hell out, to leave because you missed your chance. He might punch you… And I would hate for him to mess up your pretty little face." I tried to joke a bit, but I was really serious. Who knew how John would react to Sherlock's sudden reappearance?

"Stop stalling, Molly." Sherlock said, slightly irritated. But I could tell he was just angry for making him question his own judgment.

"I'm not stalling." I said calmly. "Just please starting thinking before you do something."

Sherlock snorted. "This? This is definitely stalling. We have a task at hand, but you choose instead to try and talk me out of it. And thinking before doing? Dull. If everyone thought about everything too much, we'd all manage to talk ourselves out of it before getting anything done."

"Fine." I said somewhat angrily and pointed towards the door. "Go then."

Sherlock started to march off, but look back at me and held out his hand. "Come with me?"

I sighed. How could I deny that impossibly beautiful face? I grabbed his hand and followed him to the door. Sherlock paused for a moment before slowly raising his hand and knocking. I squeezed his hand slightly for encouragement and I felt him grip a little tighter.

I heard nearing footsteps and an annoyed John opened the door. "Do you have any idea what time it...?" He couldn't finish his question as his eyes processed who he was seeing in front of him.

"Sherlock?"

"Hello John."

Before he could fall over, I grabbed him and Sherlock helped me get him to the sofa. John looked absolutely stunned. "Three… Three years… You've been gone three bloody years."

"Yes John. I'm sorry, but it was necessary to keep you safe."

"Safe? Safe?! You call this safe? Never in my life had I ever feared myself more than the people around me. But you made sure that I was to have every new experience. Even if it included pain and loss and suffering… And feeling the need to take my own life. That is your fault. IT IS YOUR FAULT, Sherlock Holmes." He was yelling now and even I flinched at his words. This was partly my fault too; I kept it from him all this time. But this was between John and Sherlock. I wouldn't get involved unless absolutely necessary.

Sherlock took this better than I thought he would. There were no emotions on his face and he spoke calmly, "I know John. I'm really truly sorry I hurt you. It was never my intention to put you through so much pain. If you'd only let me explain, you'll see why I did what I did. I know how you're feeling right now…"

"No! You're wrong. You don't. You have no idea what I've gone through. How you would just pop into my mind while I was trying to do everyday things. You have no idea how much I missed you, how much I wished it had been me. You left, and you didn't even bother looking back."

Were those tears in Sherlock's eyes? I couldn't tell because my own vision was getting blurry. "I did look back John. I was there, every step of the way. At the cemetery… And the first time you tried to hang yourself… I was the one that tipped off Sarah. I was always there John, and believe me… It wasn't easy going on like that. I was right; I was lost without my blogger."

John just stared at him for a moment, probably taking in everything that was being said and done. And then he lunged at Sherlock, and I thought Sherlock was a dead man. But John just hugged him fiercely. "Don't do it again. Please."

"I won't." Sherlock's voice cracked a little. "I'm sorry it took so long for me to give you your miracle."

"I'm just happy it finally came."

I decided I wasn't really needed in this reunion, so I got up to make some tea. Upon my return, John and Sherlock were talking like they'd been together for all this time. Things were back to normal. Well... Mostly.

"So you and Molly?" John winked at me.

"John. Must we discuss this sort of thing? You know I don't care for gossip." Sherlock only sounded mildy irritated.

"But is it really gossip if it's about you?"

"Whether it is or not is irrelevant. I do not gossip. Gossip is idle talk or rumor about the personal or private affairs of others. It is one of the oldest and most common means of sharing facts, views and slander. This term is used pejoratively by its reputation for the introduction of errors and variations into the information transmitted, and it also describes idle chat, a rumor of personal or trivial nature. Gossip has been researched in terms of its evolutionary psychology origins. This has found gossip to be an important means by which people can monitor cooperative reputations and so maintain widespread indirect reciprocity. Indirect reciprocity is defined here as 'I help you and somebody else helps me.' I do not gossip." Now he was really irritated.

John and I sat in stunned silence. Once again, Sherlock had rattled of like an encyclopedia, and neither one of us had a word to say. Sherlock cleared his throat and went on as if that hadn't just happened. "Molly, I think we should be going. As John tried to tell us when we first arrived, it is a rather ungodly hour. I'd like to go to bed now if you don't mind."

We all stood up and John walked us to the door. He pulled me aside, "Please look after him."

"I will." I said quietly.

"Make sure he stays out of trouble?"

I laughed. "No promises."

John grimaced, "Fair enough. I'll see you soon?"

"Of course."

"Come along, Molly." Sherlock grabbed my arm and whisked me out the door.

Once outside, I stopped. "Why the rush?"

Sherlock pulled me against him tightly and kissed me. Breathlessly he said, "Strangely enough, while we were in there, all I could think about was you and me."

"Oh?" That was not what I was expecting.

"Please Miss Hooper, may we hurry home? I'd like to go to bed." He winked at me. Oh god.


	6. Chapter 6

~About six months later~

Staring at the inside of the toilet bowl for the second time that morning, I decided that something was definitely not right. I'd called in sick, thinking I had the flu. But the more I thought about it, the less likely it seemed. I'd been feeling off for about a month now, and I was more than just a couple days late.

Thankfully, Sherlock had left a couple of hours ago, missing my sickness episode. I don't think I could have handled him sitting there trying to deduce what was wrong with me. And if he guessed the same thing I was thinking… Who knows what he would have done?

Instead, I called a close friend that I knew could keep something a secret for the time being, and sat in my room worrying until she showed up. She didn't ask questions, didn't try to give me advice, just as I knew she would.

After a few minutes, I found myself staring at the two items in the sink with disbelief. This could not be happening. Home pregnancy tests were 99% accurate and so there was always that one in a hundred chance one would read out a false positive, but the statistics were very unlikely that two would read out false positives. Sherlock and I had been together a whole six months… We weren't married… I was on the pill… I couldn't be pregnant. But the two pregnancy tests staring at me were trying to tell me otherwise. This was so wrong. My mum would kill me. Forget my mom! Sherlock was going to kill me. Oh god. What was I gonna tell Sherlock? Nothing? No! I couldn't think like that, Sherlock would know before long… So the question was how I was going to tell Sherlock.

"Hey baby, glad your home. By the way, I'm pregnant."

"How was work love? We're having a baby!"

"Bebé, estoy embarazada." Did Sherlock even speak Spanish? Most likely, I knew he spoke French and German, Russian too if I remembered correctly. He had a talent of tongue... I shook those thoughts out of my head, that was hardly the point.

Maybe he would just know… He would do his deducing thing and notice I haven't had my period, or that I was craving food too much, or that my boobs were way too big. He would know after two minutes of looking at me!

How could this have happened? I was on the pill. It was supposed to be 99.99% effective. I took mine every day, always at the same time… Just like you were supposed to. I hadn't been on antibiotics lately that would've affected them and I seriously hadn't missed a single day. I really had thought any other protection was unneeded. Sherlock was a virgin and I'd been tested for sexually transmitted diseases after the last time I'd been with someone. We were only sleeping with each other and unnecessary protection seemed… well, just that. Unnecessary.

I needed to pull myself together. Sherlock could be home any second and I didn't know how to tell him… Or maybe I should wait? Wait for what? The perfect moment? Who was I kidding? There wasn't going to be that "perfect" moment.

I was still standing in the bathroom, staring into the sink when my phone went off beside me.

I picked it up slowly. Incoming call from Sherlock. That was weird, he almost always texted. I cleared my throat and got ready to act normal.

"Hello?"

"What's wrong?" Sherlock demanded. I was confused. I'd only said one word, and he was already aware that something was up.

"What are you talking about?" I asked innocently.

"You took an extra twenty-one seconds longer than usual to answer your phone."

I was stunned. "You know how long it takes me to answer my phone?"

"Well yes. I'm around you often enough, aren't I? I know that you always keep your phone on your person or directly beside you in case something urgent comes up. You're more that way now than you were before we were together because you're always afraid I'll come into some kind of trouble, which is silly by the way. The only time you turn your phone on silent is when you're eating dinner with your mother, in a meeting, or at the cinema. Since I know you aren't on speaking terms with your mother due to the fact that you "forgot" to mention the fact you had a boyfriend to her, I know the first one is out. I know you aren't in a meeting of any sort because when I called you at work, they told me that you were out sick and since you're out sick, I know you wouldn't have gone to the cinema. I also know you aren't the kind of person to call in sick unless it's something serious. Which gives me another reason to believe something is wrong."

"It's just the flu."

"You should have told me, I can come home and take care of you if you'd like."

"No, I'll be okay. Thank you."

He was silent for a moment. "That still doesn't explain why it took you an extra twenty-three seconds to answer your mobile phone."

"I thought you said twenty-one earlier."

"Irrelevant."

"Maybe I was in the bathroom."

Sherlock laughed. "I know your bathroom schedule better than you do. Unless you had extra coffee this morning, your last restroom break isn't due for another hour or so." I had a bathroom schedule? I just thought I went when I needed to go. I could try to convince him that I had in fact, had an extra two cups of coffee this morning, but I'm sure he'd find a way to tell me that that was incorrect.

He obviously wasn't going to let this go until I told him what was going on, or at least until I admitted that something was going on. "Sherlock… I don't want to discuss this over the phone. When you get off work, would you pick up something to eat and come home? I'll tell you everything then."

"I'll leave right now. What would you like? Chinese?"

My stomach churned. "On second thought, I don't want anything. I'm still not feeling the best."

"If you say so. I'll be home as fast I can, Molly dear."


	7. Chapter 7

I put the phone down after he hung up. I was almost numb. I still hadn't accepted the fact that this was happening. How could I possibly expect Sherlock to deal with this? We'd never even once talked about having kids. I'd never really wanted any… But I guess I'd never really not wanted any… But surely Sherlock wouldn't want a baby. Someone that cries in the middle of the night, someone who has to be regularly watched and fed, and someone that had to be changed… Sherlock changing a diaper, now that was a thought.

I took a deep breath. I had to know how Sherlock felt about children. I'd never seen him around them. Who knew if he even knew how to hold a newborn? Before I knew it, I was dialing John's number. He knew everything there was to know about Sherlock.

"Hey Molly. What's wrong with Sherlock this time? Is it that newest experiment? I tried to tell him that tasting that blob of goo was a terrible idea. But apparently looking at it just wasn't enough for him! I could be over there in 30 minutes if you need me." He sounded so sincere, but I immediately felt bad. The only time I called him was when Sherlock was badly injured or sick. I was always so caught up with Sherlock that I never had a chance to be John's friend anymore.

"No. Sherlock is fine. I managed get him to dump out that goo crap. I'm actually calling to ask you a question about Sherlock."

"Oh, okay. What is it?"

"Do you know how Sherlock feels about young kids? Babies in particular?

"He's not exactly fond of them…" He paused. "Why do you ask?"

I panicked. John couldn't know. Not yet. "My cousin wanted me to babysit for a couple of days. I can just tell her it won't work. It's no big deal. Thanks John."

"That's probably smart. If I remember correctly, he said something along the lines of, "I find them irritating and their general lack of knowledge annoying. They are tiny human beings who can't do anything for themselves and are liabilities as they need money, protection and a whole other care system."" John mimicked.

I cringed. "Yeah, that sounds a lot like him."

"You can always ask him yourself though. It's always best to get the facts from the primary source."

"You sound like him sometimes."

John sighed, "So I've been told. I'd better go, nice talking to you Molly."

"Bye John."

I wanted to cry. What if Sherlock wanted to get rid of the baby? What if he just got up and left me? I didn't think I could handle that. But trying to imagine Sherlock as a father was like… Actually, there's nothing to compare it to. It's just too absurd.

But I was just going to have to talk to him. And maybe John was wrong. Maybe Sherlock did like kids after all. I sat on the sofa and turned on the telly, trying to distract myself. I was just about to give up on that when I heard the front door open and close.

"Molly? Are you doing alright love?" He walked into the sitting room.

"Yeah, I'm feeling a bit better." I turned off the telly and he sat next to me, pulling me into a tight hug.

"Got any good cases going?"

"Nothing I don't mind missing out on. What's up?"

"There are just a couple things I wanted to talk about…" I paused, trying to figure out how I wanted to say it. I decided on sticking with my cover story I told John. "My cousin called a while ago, she wants to know if we'd watch her three month old for a couple of nights. I didn't really know if you would be okay with that or not."

Sherlock shrugged. "If that's something you want to do. I don't really want to change any diapers… And I'd rather not deal with the thing at all, but if you're going to take care of all that, I don't mind."

My heart sank. "Not a big fan of kids?"

"Not particularly. I find them irritating and their general lack of knowledge annoying. They are tiny human beings who can't do anything for themselves and are liabilities as they need money, protection and a whole other care system."

Exactly as John had said. I sighed, "You don't want any of your own then?"

"What is this all about Molly? I know you don't want any either. You've always been awkward around children and you've never once expressed a desire to go through the tedious nine months of pregnancy. Before you decide you want a child, please consider all of the reasons as to why they are not desirable. Babies puke, vomit and poop uncontrollably. They look creepy; they just remind me of aliens. They stare, and I mean the kind of staring that is so totally scary and they usually drool while they stare, which makes it even scarier. They stink, and I mean barf-inducing kind of stink. When you hold them, they have a jelly bean-like texture. Their brains are like clay, you can reshape it. They make awful noises, and they also drool while they make those awful noises. The army used a baby as a way to hypnotize the public into being docile AND IT WORKED. See? Babies are evil. They are expensive. You are responsible for them until you die. There is no guarantee that this child will turn out a good child even if you do your best. We all know cases of kids turning out rotten while their parents are as sweet as angels. There is no guarantee that said child will keep you company in old age. I could go on for ages, but I think I've rather made my point."

When he stopped talking, I couldn't say anything. I got up slowly and turned away from him, tears rolling down my face.

"Molly? I hope I haven't hurt your feelings any. I was just stating my opinion on the matter."

I sniffled. "Yes, your opinion on the matter came out nice and clear." I turned to face him. "Sherlock, I'm pregnant."

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys are enjoying it!!  
> Please let me know what you guys think! Hit the Kudos button when you finish or drop off a comment!   
> With Love,   
> xxx James Moriarty


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